


Glad Tidings to You

by Linguini



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Family, Fandot Secret Santa, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/pseuds/Linguini
Summary: Emily comes to visit for Christmas, but poor Douglas isn't quite feeling his best.  Luckily, Martin's there!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/gifts).



The door had barely closed behind them before Martin was shucking off his overcoat, hanging it precisely on its peg and stripping his gloves from his hands. Douglas sat down on the bench by the door and fumbled with the laces to his shoes with red, frozen hands. For a moment, Martin watched the snow melting in Douglas’s hair, tiny pinpricks of glittering light against the wet darkness that hid the grey Douglas tried desperately to pretend doesn’t exist, then reached out and ruffled it away, smoothing down unruly locks before sweeping his thumb behind Douglas’s ear to make him shiver.

“Stop that,” Douglas grumbled irritably and batted at Martin’s hands. “Just let me change into something dry and then we’ll go.”

Martin made a sympathetic noise but stepped back as Douglas stood up. “Arthur couldn’t have known that the roof hadn’t been cleared off,” he reminded him. “Let alone that it was going to fall on you.”

Douglas made a disgruntled sound, but didn’t answer, taking the stairs up two at a time. While he changed, Martin headed for the kitchen to make a thermos of tea. His timing was impeccable--he finished right as Douglas came tromping down the stairs in jeans and his warmest jumper.

“Come on then,” Douglas said as he shrugged on his coat, shuddering when the damp collar touched his neck. “We’re already late.”

“They know,” Martin assured him, handing him the thermos while he put on his own coat. “I called them when you were signing the paperwork.” He took the keys to the Lexus off their peg and opened the door, gesturing out expansively. “Your daughter awaits.”

Douglas snatched the keys from Martin’s hand and strode out into the snow, shoulders still tense with frustration. It wasn’t long before they were on the road, the low rumble of the tires and the warmth of the heaters lulling Martin into a drowsy state.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, Douglas’s door was slamming shut. Through the windscreen, he could see Emily come running full tilt out of the house, launching herself into Douglas’s arms. The pair of them hugged for a moment, then Richard appeared with Emily’s bags. He said something to Douglas, and nodded when Douglas replied, then went back into the house. Douglas gave Emily another hug, then set her down to pick up her bags, nudging her gently towards the car.

She was still talking as she opened the door. “--and then Mrs. Timmons said that Olivia couldn’t be the star of the week because she’d already had it and she made Tommy the star of the week even though he’s already had it and Olivia got really upset.” WIthout even taking a breath, she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. “Hi, Martin. And then Olivia was crying because she said it wasn’t fair and Tommy was crying because Olivia was cross with him--”

Her bright chatter filled the car, as familiar to Martin by now as the controls of GERTI. Douglas slid in, and Martin was about to catch his eye in commiseration, but then he noticed how the tense line of his shoulders had eased and the tendon below his ear had stopped jumping and swallowed back whatever he’d been about to say.

It was a good four hour drive from Barrow to Fitton, and Emily petered off eventually, slumping against the window, fast asleep. Martin left Douglas to carry her in, gathering the bags from the boot and leading the way upstairs to Emily’s room. 

Something tender swelled in his heart as he watched Douglas carefully settle her on her bed, and again when he stepped into the hall and overheard his quiet prodding to get her into her pyjamas. Feeling suddenly like an unwanted intruder between them, he disappeared into their bedroom, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed to wait for Douglas.

It was a long while before Douglas appeared, and somehow Martin knew that he’d been watching Emily sleep. He didn’t say anything as his partner shuffled into bed next to him, just turned over and settled his arm over Douglas’s waist, nuzzling the back of his neck.

“Good night,” he murmured against the warm skin there, and nestled closer. Within a few breaths, he was asleep.

The next morning, Martin awoke to the sun streaming through the windows, too warm by half and with a dry mouth. He stretched and slid out of bed, patting towards the en suite. When he came back, Douglas hadn’t moved an inch, burrowed into the covers with only a tuft of hair sticking out. Carefully, Martin settled on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on Douglas’s shoulder and bending to kiss his cheek. “Douglas,” he murmured against his skin. “What do you want for breakfast?”

With a grumbling moan, Douglas turned over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. Martin rested his hand on Douglas’s stomach, petting gently at the sleep-warmed cotton, then left him to it, heading down to the kitchen.

He found Emily already there, munching happily on cereal and poking at Douglas’s phone. “Morning, Martin,” she chirped and gave him a brilliant smile. She held up Douglas’s phone and showed it to him. “Look. Ice skaters! Mum says that she’s going to take me ice skating next year and I can start lessons, and maybe I’ll be really good and when I’m famous I’ll give you and dad tickets to see--” and she was off. 

Martin hid a smile by turning away, setting about making poached eggs and toast. It wasn’t long before they could hear the sound of Douglas shuffling around upstairs, and by the time his partner made it, Martin had plated his breakfast.

“Good morning, love,” he said brightly when the disheveled, bleary-eyed Douglas appeared. Martin handed him a plate and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

There was a heat there he wasn’t expecting, and when he pulled back and actually looked at Douglas, he noticed for the first time the flushed cheeks, the paleness of the rest of his face and the glassy look to his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning.

Douglas took a moment to register the question, running an absent hand through his hair before nodding. “Fine,” he said, though his raspy voice belied his assurance. He settled down at the table next to Emily, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Mornin’ Ems.”

“Morning, Dad,” she replied absently, leaning sideways against him briefly. She frowned and pulled back almost instantly. “You’re hot,” she said accusingly and her frown deepened as she raised a hand to press against his forehead. “Hyperthemia,” she said with a decisive nod, then in apparent deference to their lesser intellects, “Fever.” For a moment, Martin could see her as the doctor she’d been dreaming of becoming as long as he had known her.

Douglas rolled his eyes affectionately. “Just the heat from the shower,” he told her and settled across the table. “Be right as rain in a bit.”

Martin could see from her narrowed eyes she believed it about as much as he did, but let it slide. He set a mug of coffee in front of Douglas and ran a hand along his shoulder as he sat down. “Ems,” he prodded. “Tell us about your skating show.”

She looked at Douglas suspiciously for another moment, then turned back to Martin and launched into a barrage of information that lasted all the way through breakfast and well into them moving into the sitting room to perform the annual Digging Out of Ornaments and Decorating of the Tree.

Whatever concerns Martin and Emily had about Douglas’s health were confirmed over the course of the morning. What started off as a raspy voice turned into sniffles and coughing by 10, and by lunchtime evolved into hoarseness that had the two of them enforcing a strict no-talking rule against Douglas. After lunch, the three of them settled on the sofa to watch a Christmas film, Douglas between Martin and Emily.

Not long into the film, Martin felt Douglas’s head settle against his shoulder, and when he turned slightly, he found that Emily was curled up against her father

Carefully, Martin swept aside Douglas’s fringe to press his hand to his forehead. He frowned at the heat that hadn’t left, turning his head to press a kiss there to be sure. “Ems,” he said quietly. “Can you go and get a glass of water, please?”  
“Is Dad ill?” she asked quietly even as she stood, worry coloring her voice. “He doesn’t look good.”

Martin hesitated, but lying to a Richardson never worked out well for him. “Just a bit,” he allowed eventually. “But I’m sure he’ll be fine after a bit of a lie down.”

Emily nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back with Douglas’s drink, it was with a quiet step, and she settled in the armchair across the room rather than snuggle against her father again. Martin gave her a tiny smile over the top of Douglas’s head, which she returned with smaller, slightly more worried one. He turned down the volume on the television slightly and settled back into the film.

Douglas had chosen a longstanding favorite of the Richardsons, one that, after an untold number of viewings Martin knew as well as he knew Gertie’s manuals. The familiarity of it combined with the twelve stone heater currently draped over him had him dozing off in short time.

He was awakened by a small hand pressing at his shoulder and a voice calling his name in his ear. “Hmmm?” he mumbled as he blinked open grimy eyes. Emily came into focus and he gave her a brief smile before he remembered the cause of the enormous heat blanketing him. Looking down, he saw that Douglas was still asleep, cheeks flushed, wheezing stuffily through his slightly open mouth.

“Martin” Emily said again. “It’s almost tea time. Do you want me to make something?” When Martin didn’t answer immediately, mind still catching up, she gave him her best confident Richardson look. “I can do it. I make food all the time.”

“No, no,” he said, then caught the crestfallen expression on her face. “We’ll do it together.” 

Carefully, he slid out from under Douglas, being sure to drape the blanket over him loosely before stretching cramped and sore muscles. Emily gave a muted cheer and practically bounced into the kitchen. By the time Martin got there, she’d pulled a chair beside the counter and was dragging the flour canister across the worktop.

“We’re making soup and bread,” she told Martin seriously. “Get a bowl.”

Martin smothered a smile behind a crisp “Yes ma’am,” accompanied by a cheeky salute. “Do we have time for bread?” he asked as he dug in the cabinet for the bowls.

“I know how to make a fast one,” Emily said and pulled the scale over. 

“Of course you do.” He smiled fondly at her back and risked a kiss to her cheek.

Emily was just as proficient as her father in the kitchen, if only slightly less dexterous, and in next to no time the bread was baking, soup burbling happily on the stove. When everything was done, Emily went to wake her father up and Martin arranged everything on trays to carry in.

Douglas wasn’t truthfully any more than he had been while sleeping, and it was highly amusing for Martin to notice the moment he realized the soup had been made with mushrooms, though Emily thankfully was looking the other way for a moment, distracted by the television. When she turned back, Douglas had smoothed his expression out again and gave her a smile. 

“Do you like it?” she asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Martin and I made it. It always make me feel better, so I thought it might help you, too.”

“Id’s delicious,” he assured her. “Bery good.” And gamely, he took another spoonful. “Why are du cobered in flour?” he asked when he had swallowed it down with only a tiny grimace--one that might have been mistaken for a sore throat, and quite possibly was.

“We made the bread, too,” she said and tore off a piece to hand to him.

He sopped up some of the soup with it, then smiled and nodded. “‘sgood,” he rumbled, then turned his head to cough harshly into his elbow. Emily looked a bit worried when he’d finished, so he gave her a bolstering smile. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

Emily practically glowed with pride as she settled beside her father to eat her own meal. The three of them ate in companionable silence while another film played on the television, and when they were finished, Martin and Emily prodded a sleepily-willing Douglas back to bed, bundling him under mounds of blankets and tucking him in with Emily’s teddy.

When he was finally asleep, Martin and Emily crept back downstairs and flopped on the sofa together, Emily’s head resting against Martin’s side. They were quiet for a long while, listening to the sounds of the house settling around them, until Emily said softly, “Do you think he’ll be alright, Martin?’

Martin wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a sideways cuddle. “You know your dad,” he told her reassuringly. “He’ll be right as rain in a couple of days, and then we’ll get to listen to him complain about being ill for months.”

Emily laughed a bit and pressed closer, nuzzling into Martin’s shoulder with a sleepy sigh. Another silence fell. Then, quietly, she said “I’m glad he has you. He likes you a lot.”

Martin huffed a small laugh into the top of her head and let himself drop a kiss to her hair. “I like him too,” he said softly and leant back to rest his feet up on the coffee table.

“Good,” Emily said, and yawned, letting her eyes slip shut. “It’s perfect.”

There in the the warmth of the house, contented of a full belly, and full of affection for the child in his arms, Martin could only agree.


End file.
